Second Chances
by pinkdigi
Summary: Sometimes, first chances are all you will ever get. [takari, AU]
1. Chance Encounter

**Disclaimer: I don't own digimon **

**Chapter One: Chance Encounter  
**……………………………………………………………

**"Life isn't fair. It's just fairer than death, that's all." – William Goldman  
**……………………………………………………………

Have you ever woken up one day and not been able to remember how you got there? Kind of like 'whoa, this is my life?' And you think back to when you were little, when you had so many dreams and thought that somehow, someway, everything would work out. But things didn't work out, and you aren't what you pictured yourself to be, and that kills you, because you feel like you've let your ten-year-old self down.

That's my life, in a nutshell.

I imagined my life as this amazing love story. I would have a guy that loved me more than anything and would do anything for me. I imagined meeting my dream guy in college (or perhaps I'd already known him). I would finish up school at about twenty-two, and then we could get married and raise family.

Things are funny like that. You have this amazing picture of something in your mind, and then, much to your dismay, it turns out to be nothing like you imagined it to be at all.

Never in my mind did I realize that I would actually have to _work _for that dream, and that nothing would be handed to me on a silver platter.

I realize this now, but it's a little too late to do anything about it. All I know is this: there will always be the one who got away. I think that's true for everyone, everywhere. There will always be one person that we want, but can't have. And if we can have them, we won't take them.

I used to think it was because humans are greedy and we always want what we cannot have, but once we might stand a chance of having them, they lose their appeal and we no longer care that much. Recently, however, I changed my opinion. Sometimes, you can spend your whole life wanting something but when you finally get it, it's under the wrong pretenses, and your damned conscience gets in the way. You're too good of a person to just say 'to hell with it' and throw caution to the wind. You sit on the sidelines as the game plays on.

Will I sit on the sidelines? Will I sit on the bench, desperate to play, but restrain myself from doing so? Or will I jump up and run onto the field, ready for whatever the other side will throw at me?

I guess my wondering is pretty useless, since I'll most likely never get the chance to test out this particular theory. I've lost my chance. The buzzer has sounded, the game is over. My team lost.

That's what I thought, until today.

Today, I am twenty-six years old (not to mention single and alone), and fate has decided to rear its ugly head again.

……………………………………………………………

I push my way through the busy streets of New York City, where I have lived for four perfectly lovely – and yet still lacking that special _something_ – years. After graduating from the top fashion school in Japan with a degree in fashion and photography, I relocated to the Big Apple to hopefully launch my career.

I had originally wanted to try my hand at modeling, but I quickly changed my mind and decided I'd be more interested in the photography aspect of things. I've actually had a pretty lucky career, if you think about it. Most aspiring photographers take years, building up their portfolios, before they make it big. I, however, hit the jackpot.

I met this guy at a club one night and, after a few too many drinks and one very interesting night filled with dancing in a rather close proximity, he told me to stop by his office the next day. It turned out that 'this guy I met at a club' was the fashion editor of Vogue Magazine. After a quick visit to his office, which led to us going for coffee, he looked over my portfolio (miniscule, though it was) and hired me for his upcoming fashion spread.

Since then, my pictures have appeared in Vogue, Flare, Glamour, Elle, Style, Cosmopolitan, and many other fashion magazines.

I've worked with some of the hottest Hollywood 'it' girls, such as Cameron Diaz, Heidi Klum, Rachel Bilson, Jennifer Aniston, Elle McPherson, Adriana Lima, and Gwen Stefani.

I've traveled all over the world, visiting six of the seven continents and meeting quite the variety of people.

I can speak three languages: Japanese, English and French. Japanese is my first, but I started learning English way before I moved to America. I picked it up pretty quickly once I arrived here. French is something I learned when I lived in Paris. Once I started making money in New York, I decided I wanted to buy a place over there. A spur-of-the-moment purchase, I can assure you. I lived there for five and a half months about three years ago before I decided it was dreadful and moved back here. Paris just wasn't my scene. I know that now.

All that might look good on paper, it might impress snooty celebrities and other important clientele when they consider who shall do their next photo shoot, but I don't really care about what I've done. None of it matters, because it's just a job. It used to be my passion, but the fire inside me, the urge and hunger to make it big in this industry, has long since fizzled out.

But where was I, again?

Oh, right.

I push my way through these hectic streets, cursing the gods above me for my bad luck. I don't have a _bad _life, but lately, it seems like I'm constantly being reminded of what I don't have. My best friend, Paige, just got married to her longtime fiancé, Daniel. He's a great guy and I'm happy for her, but I can't help wondering, had I not chosen career over romance, if that would be me.

Whenever I go back to Japan, which is rather often, I get together with my old friends. I see all the old, familiar faces and know that, although my apartment is thousands of miles away in New York, I'm home. I usually stop by Tai's first to see him, Sora and the kids. From there, I go see Mimi and Matt – which reminds me; I need to call her when I get home. The last time I saw Mimi, a month ago, she was so pregnant she was about to pop. In fact, if I'm not mistaken, her due date is tomorrow. Then I make a quick stop over at my parents' house, update them on everything and do a little shopping with my mom, before going back to New York.

Izzy is a billionaire. He invented some computer-thingy a few years ago that was _huge_. Last I heard, via Forbes Magazine, Izzy was living in Barcelona, Spain with his supermodel wife. Oh God, what was her name? I photographed her a few years ago, before she met Izzy, but I can't remember her name.

The worst part isn't they have all grown up and gotten lives while I'm stuck here in a rut. I like my rut. Well, I'm at least accustomed to my rut. No, the worst part is that I've actually lost track of Joe and T.K.

I don't know where they are, I haven't talked to them in what seems like forever. I think Joe is living in Canada, though I can't be sure. I suppose I could just ask Matt where T.K. is, but that would raise too many questions. Even after all these years, after all the boyfriends I've had, I still get teased over my feelings for T.K. – feelings that have long since evaporated.

I notice that it's getting kind of late, so I pick up the pace a bit, since I want to be home before dark. I was running a little late this afternoon and I missed the subway. Now, I have to walk all the way home. Twelve down, twenty blocks to go.

I keep my eyes glued to the ground the entire time. I've had a terrible day of photographing one of the bitchiest celebrities I've ever had the misfortune of crossing paths with (I'm not going to name names, but I will say that she will be appearing on next month's issue of Vogue). Since I'm not watching where I'm going (which is stupid due to the business of the street, I know) I smack into a random passerby.

Mumbling an apology, I keep walking, still not looking up. Apparently, my apology wasn't good enough, because the guy steps in front of me, not letting me pass. My head snaps up and I glare at the terribly rude person before me. He smiles, which angers me even more. Throwing him the dirtiest look I can muster, I try to step around him, but he blocks my attempts.

"Going so soon, Ms. Kamiya?"

I know him. I can't figure out who he is, but I know him. I have to, since he knows me, right? Or maybe he just knows me because I'm a famous photographer. What if he's a stalker? Oh, shit.

"That depends on whether you're going to get out of my way or not," I snap.

He gets a hurt look in his eyes, and I get a knot in my stomach. I'm supposed to know this guy, I'm sure of it. Judging by the look on his face, he agrees with me. I do a quick scan: Tall, attractive, blue eyes and blonde hair. Okay, probably a model, right?

"Kar? Are you okay?" he asks.

Kar.

There's only one person who has ever called me Kar. There's only one person that can get away withcalling me Kar.

Standing in the middle of a busy street corner, everybody seems to disappear and time stops moving entirely. All noise fades into the background, where it becomes a barely audible hum. Things are going in slow motion, and although a wide grin creeps across my face, I feel like I might be sick. I can't remember how I got to this street; I can't remember where I'm going. There is just us, and this moment.

"T.K.!" Without a second thought, I launch myself at him and wrap my arms around his neck. "Oh my God, how are you?"

"I'm amazing. And you, well, I don't need to ask, 'Ms. Fashion Photographer Extraordinaire,'" he muses. "If you don't have anywhere to be, would you want to get some coffee around the corner with me so we can catch up?"

……………………………………………………………

Three hours later, I'm still at the coffee shop with T.K.

We've laughed about old times and updated each other on our lives. Now, we are just sipping our coffees (I'm on my third, he's on his fourth) and making casual conversation. I can't help but think that this wonderful feeling in the pit of my stomach will go away once we get up and go our separate ways. I want to ask him if I'll see him again. I want to make long-term plans so I don't ever have to lose track of him again.

A cell phone goes off and I'm about to comment on how annoying those contraptions are when he pulls his phone out of his pocket and grins sheepishly at me.

"Mind if I take this?" he asks after glancing at the caller ID. I smile and shake my head. He stands up and walks outside, chatting on his phone to whomever. His back is to me, and despite my best efforts, I find myself staring at him as he stands on the street corner, cell phone in hand, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

And as I sit here, watching this grown up and yet oddly child-like T.K., all those feelings that have, and I quote, "evaporated", come rushing back full force. The butterflies in my stomach are flapping around faster and faster and my heart is pounding against my ribcage. T.K., the boy I've loved since before I can remember, is on the other side of this glass door. I can feel something bubbling up in my stomach and realize what it is – hope.

Maybe it was fate that made me miss my subway today. If I hadn't had to walk, I never would have run into T.K. and wound up getting coffee with him.

Yes, the fate gods are smiling down on me today. This is it, my second chance. I lost him once; I'm not stupid enough to do it again. Thank you, universe!

I wipe the small smile off my face as he comes back and sits down.

"Who was that?" I ask, not really caring. I'm just trying to buy some time, trying to figure out a way to express my feelings without putting myself out there too much. Is that possible?

"My wife. I went out for milk about three hours ago, and I still don't have the milk," he laughs.

There is _one _person for each of us. _One _person who makes our hearts beat faster and slower at the same time. There is one person, and one person only, who can turn us to mush and make us get all giggly. There is one person who makes us feel indescribably happy, so happy that we're afraid to blink incase it all disappears and we're left with just our dreams and the hope of what could have been.

For me, unfortunately, that person is T.K.

I'm sure of it.

I had, after all, spent the majority of high school in love with him. He was my best friend, and he was the object of my every desire. All he saw me as was someone to hang out with, someone to joke around with and laugh with when he was bored.

He was easily the best-looking guy in our school. And he was my best friend. All the girls wanted to be his girlfriend, and me, I was stuck being the best friend; I couldn't do anything to stop other girls from pursuing him. What was I supposed to say? 'T.K., I don't think you should go out with her, because you should be dating me instead?'

Actually, I could have said that. Why didn't I?

I tried to get through it by dating other guys. T.K. may not have wanted me for romantic purposes, but I was no troll. The boys definitely liked me. I got five invitations to junior prom, after all. And I even had a sort-of boyfriend at the time.

To make it easier, I told myself that I wasn't really in love with him at all. I tried to convince myself that I was only lusting after him, like the rest of the female population at Odaiba High. It was highly plausible, considering I secretly wished for the day that T.K. would push me into the janitor's closet and lock the door behind him.

Love, lust, what's the difference?

The point was that I had feelings, feelings that I wasn't supposed to have, for my best friend. I wanted him so bad that it hurt. He would tell me all about the girl he was dating, and whether or not he really liked her. I would always pray that he wouldn't, that he would be alone until the day he finally realized he should be with me. If only it had happened that way.

After we graduated, we went off to different schools, with different dreams and aspirations. We would always be able to look back on our childhood and remember each other, as our childhood best friends. That was all there was room for anymore. We would be contained, stored away in each other's memory banks. We would be fond memories, complete with a reflective smile and sentimental laugh. We said we wouldn't drift but there was no certainty that we would always be close. We had different dreams, and we would eventually be taking different paths in our lives.

It astounds me to realize that we have already gone down our separate paths. We have been gone for quite a while, and I never even realized. I guess I had to find him again before I could fully recognize the fact that I lost him.

I curse myself for having hope, for letting myself think that maybe, somehow, I would get what I wanted out of this newfound friendship with T.K. If I stay really still and listen really closely, I can probably hear the last remaining piece of my heart crumbling to dust with his sentence.

"You're married? When did that happen?" I blurt out before thinking. Now, I can only hope that I didn't sound too outraged or upset about this sudden revelation.

I should have noticed. I should have checked for a wedding ring when I first saw him. I just never assumed T.K. would have gone off and gotten hitched … Without me.

"Three months ago," he reveals. I force a smile and try to keep the tears in check. I never realized just how strong my feelings for the man before me still were. Love is like a volcano. Just when you think it's dormant and you stop worrying that one day it'll erupt, it erupts. Life's cruelly ironic like that, isn't it?

"That's great, congratulations!" If I appear happy for him, I can assure you that I'm anything but.

"Thanks." He gets an uncomfortable look in his eye. "I would have invited you, but –"

"No, I … understand. Don't worry." He smiles appreciatively at me, because I let him off the hook. I say I understand but, in reality, I don't. In fact, out of everything that has happened today, this is the part I'll analyze over and over tonight as I lay in bed. Why did I interrupt him? Why didn't I just let him say what he was going to say?

It's too painful. It's too painful to sit here and listen to the love of your life explain why he didn't want you to be a part of the happiest day of his life, why he didn't want you to share in his joy. Although I'm sure that I wouldn't have been sharing in any joy. In fact, I probably would have backed out, saying I had an important photo shoot that I couldn't avoid or postpone.

"Sorry to cut this short, but I have to get home," he says, standing up. "We should do this again sometime, though."

"Yeah, definitely," I agree. I reach into my purse and pull out one of my cards. "Here. Call anytime." He takes the card and smiles at me. My breath catches in my throat when he doesn't break eye contact and stares at me for a few agonizingly long moments. "What?" I ask.

"Nothing," he says, looking down at the card. "It's great to know that you still have time for the little people," he teases. I smile, though I feel like running the nineteen blocks home and never leaving my room ever again.

He promises to call me tomorrow, but I won't hold him on it. He has a life, a _wife_, and I understand. I don't have to like it, but I can at least respect it. His life is going a certain way and, from the looks of things, he's happy about it. He doesn't need me, his so-called friend, screwing everything up for him.

I watch him leave, and any chance I have for real happiness goes with him.

……………………………………………………………


	2. Close Quarters

**Disclaimer: I don't own digimon **

**Chapter Two: Close Quarters  
**……………………………………………………………

**"I just want something I can never have." – Nine Inch Nails  
**……………………………………………………………

Not only does T.K. call me the next day like he promised he would, but he asks me to lunch. Since we don't have 'real jobs' (he writes a column for the paper and decides for himself when he feels like working, I don't have any shoots scheduled for the rest of the week), lunch is not determined by working hours and break times.

We go for lunch at about noon, and that's when it happens.

"You should come over sometime and meet my wife," he suggests.

I fight back the urge to tell him that I don't _ever _want to meet the woman who stole him away from me. Granted, I have no right to hate her, but that doesn't really register in my mind. There are a ton of women who could have taken him away from me, but since _she _is the one who actually did, I'm free to despise her all I want. And yeah, maybe she didn't exactly _steal_ him away being that he was never mine, but it still doesn't change anything!

Instead, I smile and nod, saying, "Sure, that sounds like fun."

In actuality, the level of fun is measured somewhere between peeling off my skin with my bare hands and letting a bunch of birds peck me to death.

Much to my dismay, the conversation does not end there. He literally picks a day – next Saturday night, provided it's okay with his darling wife – for me to come over for dinner.

"And, um, you can bring someone," he mumbles. My heart soars due to the look of discontent on his face. I can't help but get the feeling that he doesn't want me to be dating, just like I don't want him to be married. I refuse to analyze it any further, so I don't get my hopes up.

"Yeah, okay." He gives a little nod and looks away.

"Do you, um, have anyone particular in mind?" I can't help but notice that his eyes are going everywhere but in my direction. I have two choices for how to go about this. I can tell the truth, say no, I'm not seeing anyone at the moment. Or I can lie and say I _do _have someone to bring, just to get a rise out of him.

True to form, I don't think before I speak.

"Yeah, well, there's this guy that I'm seeing," I lie. Shit. I didn't even stop to think that I would actually have to deliver a guy, as proof of my romantic escapades, on Saturday night.

Where am I going to find a guy in three days?

……………………………………………………………

Maybe fate wants to make it up to me because today, exactly one day before my dinner disaster with T.K., I find a guy.

It all starts early this morning, a warm and sunny Friday. Paige, who recently got back from her honeymoon, calls me. We go out to brunch and then decide to go shopping. While walking down a crazily busy New York street (is there any other kind?) on our way to a few stores, Paige is injured. Let's just say a rather _large _woman wearing thick heels steps on my poor, unsuspecting friend's foot, causing her to cry out and hobble on the other foot to the street corner, where we proceed to take a taxi to the hospital. Ouch. In the emergency room, the X-ray shows two broken toes. Double ouch.

Call it being at the right place at the right time, I suppose, because I meet a cute doctor while Paige is being tended to. Actually, cute doesn't begin to describe it. His name is Chris; he's twenty-seven and works in the Pediatric wing. That's an added bonus, because it means he likes kids.

"Do you maybe want to get a cup of coffee sometime?" he asks me after a perfectly lovely conversation, about twenty-five minutes in length. I'm about to say yes and excuse myself to check on Paige when a thought occurs to me: I can bring him to dinner.

"Sure. Actually, I'm going to this dinner thing tomorrow and I'd love it if you'd be my date," I say, smiling sweetly and touching his arm for added effect. He looks down at the ground and runs a hand through his hair. Uh oh, not a good sign.

"Oh, I don't know … I just got out of a relationship and I'm not really ready to jump into anything too serious," he admits. I smile and shake my head.

"That's … perfect." I then proceed to explain, in minor detail, my situation. I say that I'm getting together with an old friend and unfortunately have to go stag, unless he would be willing to accompany me. I purposely forget to mention that I think I might be in love with the 'old friend'. It's for one night only, I say, and then add in that we can go for coffee the following day, if he'd like.

Chris, who has apparently been in a situation like this in the past (I'm tempted to ask him exactly _how _one winds up in our positions) agrees. He then adds that he's a big fan of my work, and that the spread I just did with Elle McPherson was, and I quote, "totally hot". I'm suddenly thankful for my successful career, getting the feeling that he wouldn't be helping me out if I weren't Hikari Kamiya. But I don't care about his intentions, as long as he shows up looking painfully sexy tomorrow night.

Honestly, I wasn't expecting him to say yes. In Japan, everything is very traditional and respectful. One almost never pulls a stunt like this. Then again, one almost never falls in love with their married best friend, right? All I can think is 'thank God we aren't back in Japan right now'. Or, if we _were _back in Japan, would that mean that T.K. would be single? Perhaps he would even be mine?

I don't know for sure, and frankly, I don't want to know. I don't want to think about what would be happening right now in some distant universe, because I'm living in this one. And what a shitty one it is.

God bless American men.

……………………………………………………………

Halfway through dinner with T.K. and his (unfortunately) beautiful wife, Chantelle, Chris is called away to the hospital. After saying a round of goodbyes and giving me a quick peck on the lips (his portrayal of 'the boyfriend' is rather commendable), he heads to the hospital. Now, it's just T.K., Chantelle and I. Terrific.

I look up from my food to find Chantelle staring at me. I offer a weak smile and she breaks out of her trance.

"I'm sorry; I'm just a little star struck right now. I mean, you were in last month's People Magazine! The cover picture of this month's Vogue was taken by you! When T.K. said that you were coming for dinner, I didn't believe him!" I know I should be flattered, but I am blinded by my absolute hatred for this woman before me.

I shouldn't dislike her, she's been a very gracious host and she seems wonderful. We haven't had much opportunity to _really _interact, but from what I can tell, she's smart, maybe even funny. She and T.K. look happy enough, so I can at least take comfort in the fact that he's in good hands.

Oh, why can't she be horrible, so I don't have to feel guilty about my feelings towards her … towards _him_?

She leans in close and I feel like backing up, but that would be rude and I must make nice for T.K.'s sake. "So tell us, who's the bitchiest celebrity you've ever worked with?"

She wants me to tell her about my escapades, so she can live vicariously through me.

Isn't it ironic that, while she's wondering how it would feel to be me, I would give everything I own, just to be her?

"I don't know, they all have pretty big egos," I shrug. Would it be considered rude for me to tell her to fuck off, even though we're in her house? What if we weren't in her house? If that's acceptable, then I will gladly take her outside and do it there.

"Well, what about you? You travel all over the world. I'm sure you've seen some amazing things with your job," she inquires. It's not that I don't have any stories, it's just that I'm scared if _I _tell a few, _she'll _tell a few (like how she and T.K. met, how he proposed …)

"Oh, it's not half as fabulous as it seems."

"Yeah, come on babe. Nobody likes to talk about work on their day off," T.K. says, coming to my rescue. I shoot him an appreciative smile, to which he winks quickly, before Chantelle has a chance to look. I feel like that wink held some importance, almost as if some of his hidden feelings for me came bubbling to the surface. If it was just a simple, friendly wink, why wouldn't he want his wife to see? Maybe I'm just getting carried away.

"I suppose," she shrugs. She turns to T.K. "Don't let me forget that I have to fax over a copy of those papers to Maria before we leave."

"'Kay." He turns to me. "Chantelle's going on a business trip to Italy for a week," he tells me.

"Oh, really?" She's pretty lucky. I've only been to Italy a few times, but I'd love to go back. It was so beautiful over there, and there are so many great things to do. Maybe, if I'm feeling charitable later this evening, I'll give her some traveler's tips on places to visit and sites to see. "When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow evening," she answers after swallowing a mouthful of food. "And I get back next Sunday." It might sound terrible, but I'm ecstatic that she'll be gone and leave the two of us alone for seven whole days. It's not like I'm planning on having some sexy tryst with T.K. while his wife is on another continent, but I won't lie and say the thought didn't cross my mind.

The phone rings, and T.K. excuses himself to answer it. Now, it's just Chantelle and I and an uncomfortable silence. Luckily, it doesn't last long. T.K. runs back into the room with a huge grin on his face.

"I'm an uncle!" he exclaims.

_Mimi_.

I jump out of my chair.

"Oh my God! She had it?" I ask. He nods excitedly. "Boy or girl?"

"Boy," he practically screams. He wraps me into a tight hug, and I throw a quick, subtle glance over my shoulder at Chantelle. She doesn't even look bothered by the fact that her husband is practically groping another woman right in front of her. Apparently, she trusts him wholeheartedly. I'm disappointed to realize that she has no reason not to, and even more disappointed in myself when I realize I'm literally wishing for him to cheat on his wife with me.

My unhappiness only lasts for a second, because I realize that she looks absolutely lost.

"You remember Mimi, right? My brother's wife?" T.K. asks her slowly, when we break apart. She nods, though I don't completely buy it.

"Oh, right. She was the pregnant one," she recalls, a hint of recognition sweeping her features. I feel like smacking her upside the head and asking her who else would be the one who just gave birth. Perhaps I was wrong in my conclusion that she was smart.

"Yeah, her. Well, that was Matt on the phone, and he wants me to fly down and meet my new nephew," he announces. Chantelle, who doesn't seem too thrilled about visiting Japan, casually suggests that T.K. fly down this week, while she is in Italy. When he argues that he doesn't want to go alone, she suggests that I go with him. She says it will be good to see everyone again, and that I will be on the same page as him, unlike her, who wouldn't be up to speed on the stories and inside jokes.

Is she stupid?

Okay, _maybe _I won't go for T.K. while we're here in New York, but does she honestly expect me to behave myself with us thousands of miles away from her … and our responsibilities?

The rest of the dinner conversation consists of remembering the good old days, growing up in Odaiba. Chantelle, as expected, looks out of it. She doesn't say two words the rest of the night.

……………………………………………………………

"Three days overdue. She was unbearable, I was ready to go in there and pull the kid out myself," Matt laughs.

"I was not _that _bad," Mimi protests.

The reaction from the crowd speaks volumes. Between Sora's eye roll, Tai's snort of disbelief and Matt's look of gaping offence, it's pretty clear that the last few days of Mimi's pregnancy were not a walk in the park by any means.

It has been three days since the dinner party at T.K.'s house, and the two of us have just gotten to Odaiba this morning. We're now at Matt and Mimi's house, Mimi and the baby having been released from the hospital yesterday. The beautiful baby boy, Heiden, is the spitting image of his parents. He has Mimi's cute, thin nose and chocolate brown hair, in addition to having Matt's bright blue eyes and chin. Although most babies are born with blue eyes, there's no doubt in my mind that they'll stay this way.

"If you two need a place to stay, you're more than welcome over at our place," Sora offers, changing the subject. I'm about to decline her invitation when T.K. beats me to it.

"Thanks, but you guys have enough going on, what with the kids and all. We can just get some rooms at a hotel or something," he suggests.

A fantasy enters my mind in which I sneak into T.K.'s hotel room for a late night romp, which he fully agrees to.

"When are the others coming down?" Sora asks, interrupting my daydream.

"Joe and his wife were planning a trip down here next month anyway, so they're just going to come then," Matt answers. "And Izzy, well, who knows. I don't have his number to call him, now that he's gone and made something of himself," he smirks. "Maybe I'm not important enough."

It's not like we're unhappy for Izzy or anything like that. If anyone deserves it, it's him. But Matt remains slightly bitter, saying he could at least keep in touch with us.

I argue that, with everything going on, it's hard to make time to sit down and call old buddies. I know, since I went through it my first year in New York. After my career exploded, I didn't get in touch with Tai for a good five months, because I was so busy. While five months doesn't seem like a lot, given the distance and everything, it is. Especially to us, since we normally talk once a week.

The rest of the group remains indifferent to the Izzy matter.

Ten eyes drift my way with Matt's last sentence. Smiling sheepishly, I reach into my purse, pull out my book and, sure enough, Izzy's number is there. I hand it to Matt and shrug as they all break out into grins.

……………………………………………………………

"I'm sorry, sir. We only have one room available at the moment," the pretty woman at the front desk tells T.K. "We're all booked up, otherwise."

He turns to me and raises an eyebrow.

"What do you say, kid? Are we up for it?"

I blush at the dirty thoughts that enter my mind and look away.

Oh, I'm up for it.

But instead of telling him that, dragging him up to our room and acting out my most predominant fantasy, I nod my head shyly. Unbeknownst to him, I'm feeling anything but shy.

"Sure, I guess," I mumble. Then I add, "There will be two beds, after all," for good measure.

"Actually," the woman begins, "the only room we have open is the honeymoon suite."

She _must _be kidding me.

"So there's only one bed, then?" T.K. asks. This day keeps getting better.

"Well, yes. But don't worry, we'll give you the rates for a regular room," she assures us. I roll my eyes. The bill for the room is the last thing on my mind.

Shrugging, T.K. agrees and we head up to the honeymoon suite.

The woman mentioned that there was only one bed, but she clearly omitted the part about how utterly romantic the room was. It's about twice the size, maybe more, of a normal room. There is a huge window overlooking Odaiba, and I must admit, I forgot how beautiful this place can be at night. The bed has red silk sheets and nice, fluffy pillows. Beside the bed is a bucket of rose petals, next to which is a chilled bottle of champagne. Oh, dear God. There is a nice couch in one corner and I realize that T.K. will probably insist on sleeping on it.

We hang out, watch some TV, and talk about old times. In a way, I wish the week was up and we were going home tomorrow, just so I wouldn't have to live with this torturing. It's like going up to a starving man and waving a nice, juicy steak in his face … and then eating it.

But then, in another way, I never want this to end. Once this week is up and we have to go back to New York, that's it for us. I can't see how I will keep in touch with him, since all I'd want to do are things that I _can't _do, things that I won't let myself do. Even if I was able to throw out my morals, T.K. certainly wouldn't agree. He wouldn't cheat on his wife.

The T.K. I knew in high school wouldn't, at least.

As we talk, though, I come to a rather shocking realization: I don't know T.K.

Sure, I know the eighteen-year-old T.K., the one who was my best friend in high school, but he's changed since then. Beyond memories of the way he used to be, all I know is that he's married.

Maybe that's all I need to know.

I yawn and he stands up.

"I say we get to bed. We're still running on New York time, plus we have to get up early tomorrow," he says. I nod, grab one of my bags and go into the bathroom to change into my pajamas. It's only after I'm in the bathroom and have unzipped my bag that I remember _which_ pajamas I brought. I walk back into the room to find T.K. undressing.

"Sorry!" I yell and spin around, trying to cover my grin. He just laughs.

"It's okay. You aren't changing?"

"No," I state, my back still to him. "The pajamas I brought seemed okay when I thought we'd be in separate rooms, but …"

"Oh … ? _Oh_," he says, getting my hint. "Well you can borrow something of mine, if you want," he offers. I hear him unzip his suitcase and pull something out. "Here." He hands me a shirt. I grab it and try not to look at him as I retreat back to the bathroom. As I'm closing the door, I peek. And he looks damn good.

I peel off my clothes and reach into my bag. I step into my shorts – very skimpy, due to the heat – and pull on my even skimpier top. Then I put T.K.'s shirt on overtop, and it hangs down just above my knees. It feels nice, wearing his shirt. I wish it didn't, but it really does.

I walk back into the room and find T.K. clad in only pajama pants. Does he honestly expect me to control myself with him like that? Fine, then. Two can play at that game.

"It's really hot in here," I sigh. He nods and goes to adjust the air conditioning. "I'm starting to re-think this shirt. It's just too ... ugh." I pull off the oversized shirt, leaving me in my tiny pajamas. I'm suddenly very thankful for those fifty sit-ups I do every night before bed. He turns back around to face me and his eyes widen, but he says nothing. I can feel his eyes raking up and down my body and I pretend not to notice.

Eat your heart out, T.K.

"I can, um, take the couch ... if you want," he mumbles. I can sense some disappointment in his voice, and am tempted to say that I _do _want him to, just to see his reaction.

"Oh, it doesn't matter to me. We can share the bed," I say, trying to act indifferent to the matter. I pull down the covers and climb in on one side.

"Yeah, it's not like anything's gonna happen," he says quietly, more to himself than to me. He hesitates, and then nods his head as if to convince himself that I won't be seducing him tonight. Maybe I should convince myself, too.

The jet lag overcomes me and I drift off to sleep, but not before mumbling, "Goodnight, T.K."

……………………………………………………………

It is now Thursday, our third day back in Odaiba.

Today, everyone is uncharacteristically busy. Maybe we failed to consider the fact that people actually have lives here, because we came during a working week. Tai, Matt and Sora are working. Mimi is on maternity leave, of course, but we decided to leave her alone for today. All week, people have been invading her house and haven't given her more than a second alone with her little bundle of joy. Besides, we've been at their house so much this week, and we don't want to impose.

What can we do? We wander aimlessly around Odaiba, reflecting on 'the good old days'. We must have forgotten how boring Odaiba can be, or perhaps the good old days were fewer than we'd remembered, because by seven o'clock, we're back at the hotel. Following one particularly good suggestion on T.K.'s part, we open up the mini bar and get ripped.

After successfully polishing off quite a few bottles of vodka, I stand by the window and look out at Odaiba. It's lit up by buildings and shops, but it still looks beautiful. It reminds me of New York, because there are still people outside, going about their slightly less complicated lives. Or perhaps they're more complicated; I'll never know. Nonetheless, they're outside, roaming the streets of Japan and looking for answers. The outside population is not as extreme as it is in the city that never sleeps, but it is close enough to keep me from feeling homesick. And you can actually see the stars here, unlike New York, which is an added bonus.

T.K. comes to stand beside me and glances out at our beloved hometown. Then he turns his attention to me. I don't return his look, but I watch him out of the corner of my eye, and can tell that he's still staring. The silence is deafening and I need to do something to break it.

"It's beautiful," I say.

"Yeah," he agrees.

I'm forced to wonder if he's talking about the city, or me.

We climb into bed and are closer than we've been in previous nights. Literally, though. He is lying beside me in a manner that, I think, is similar to how he lays beside his wife. Shoulder to shoulder, bodies touching, quiet but comfortable. Maybe we had to drink our body weight in alcohol before we would be completely comfortable with each other again.

Although I'm certifiably drunk and my mind's eye is cloudy, I'm still thinking about the man beside me. If I were to kiss him right now, to jump on him and rip off his clothes before he thinks to object (_would _he object?) I could just blame it on the alcohol. In the morning, when he confronts me about making the first move, I was clearly intoxicated and cannot be held responsible for my actions.

But no, that wouldn't be good. If – and this is a _big _if – I want T.K. to cheat on his wife with me, I want it to be soberly. Perhaps that's even worse, but I know I would take comfort in knowing that he truly cares for me, and isn't just pissed out of his mind and not thinking clearly.

I decide, here and now, that I'm calling Chris the minute we land in New York. I need to release this sexual energy T.K. has caused me, whether it's with the man himself or not.

Hell, can I even wait for Saturday night, when we return to the Big Apple?

"Do you know if Davis is still single?" I ask T.K., and notice that I'm sort of slurring. Perhaps I won't pay Davis a visit, just because I think I might regret it later. He props himself up on his elbow and turns to face me.

"'Dunno. Why?"

"Because," I explain snuggling deeper under the covers, "I need one good night of … you know. And I figure that Davis has always liked me, so why not?" Shit. Did I just say that out loud? To _him_? He snorts and returns to his previous position, lying flat on his back.

"You know, Kar," he says a few minutes later, "I would help you out … but I'm married." Trust me, I've noticed. "But if I wasn't, um, you know … well, I don't think I need to tell you what we'd be, um, doing right now," he stammers.

I shut my eyes tight, willing the thoughts of what could have been to disappear. I want to scream 'But you _are _married, so quit torturing me!'

His last statement, under normal circumstances, would be enough to evoke tears from me. But since he's right there, the alcohol has relaxed me a great deal, and he's just slid his arm around me and whispered, 'Goodnight, babe,' I don't think I could cry if I wanted to.

A few minutes later, I hear his breathing even out and I know for a fact that he's asleep.

Lucky bastard. It will be a few hours more before I can finally succumb to my fatigue.

He _had_ to say it.

……………………………………………………………


	3. Confessions

**Disclaimer: I don't own digimon **

**Chapter Three: Confessions  
**……………………………………………………………

**"In my heart, you're the only one for me." – Runaway Bride  
**……………………………………………………………

Today is Saturday, our last full day in Japan.

I'm forced to assume that T.K. has forgotten what transpired the other night, because he hasn't said anything about it.

Yesterday consisted of hanging around the hotel, nursing our hangovers and swearing that we will never drink again. I don't think I realized exactly how much we drank until I woke up the next morning to a throbbing head and a spinning room.

This morning, however, I wake up headache-free. T.K. and I go to Tai and Sora's for a barbeque lunch, along with Mimi, Matt, and little Heiden. Sora tells us that she has a surprise for us, but it hasn't arrived yet. We all sit down to lunch – outside, of course – and grill her on what it could be. Halfway through our hamburgers, we get our answer.

"Hey, everybody!"

I look up to find Izzy strolling into the backyard, his supermodel wife in tow. We all jump up from the table and greet them both with big hugs.

"This is Camilla," he says, introducing us to his wife.

"Hikari, so nice to see you again," she smiles. I'm impressed that she remembers me, but then again, my photos _did _help launch her career. We do the 'air kiss' thing and then I back off to let everyone else say hello to her. Izzy grabs a burger and Camilla, naturally, sticks with a salad. She sits across from me eating her lettuce as I chomp down my second hamburger. I've never felt fatter in my life. Damn supermodels.

After lunch, we break up into our respective groups. The guys go into the den to watch some game on TV while the girls help Sora clean up. Everyone insists that Mimi stay off her feet and rest, but she starts bringing dishes into the kitchen anyway.

"So Mimi, Matt is your husband?" Camilla asks as the four of us head outside and sit down on the patio a few minutes later.

"Yeah. And this is our son, Heiden," Mimi answers, holding little Heiden.

"And Sora, those are your children over there?" she asks, gesturing toward the two children running around the backyard. Sora nods and smiles fondly at her kids. "They're adorable."

"Thanks. Do you and Izzy plan on having children?" Sora inquires.

"Someday, but we're going to give it a few years. There's just so much going on, and my career isn't exactly ideal for childbearing," she says. She turns to me and asks, "Does T.K. want children?"

Why is she asking me? Shouldn't she be asking him, or his wife? I look at Sora and Mimi, who seem to know exactly what she means. I'm still lost.

"I don't know," I shrug. "He's never said anything to me. Sora? Meems? Has he mentioned anything to you?" Sora shakes her head and grins while Mimi fights back a laugh. Camilla now looks as confused as I feel.

"Why would your husband talk to them and not you?"

"My _what?_" Since when do I have a husband? Surely she doesn't think that T.K. is my – oh God, she does! "T.K. and I are just friends! He already has a wife," I tell her.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Oh, I'm sorry!Iit's just that you two seemed so … you know? You can see where I can be confused, though. You two have the whole witty banter thing … and such sexual chemistry!" Camilla explains.

T.K. and I have chemistry? _Sexual _chemistry? I can understand sexual tension, but sexual chemistry? Maybe she's just crazy. I bet nobody else thinks that way.

"That's true," Mimi admits when she stops laughing. Sora nods her head and grunts in agreement, the stupid smirk still on her face.

Okay, so maybe they _do _think that way.

"What? It is _not _true. T.K. and I are just friends! We've always been just friends," I insist, trying to cover the sadness in my voice. I'm telling the truth, no matter how I feel about it, and that's all that matters.

We have always been _just _friends.

Sora rises from her seat and looks at me. "I'm going to go inside and make us some coffee. Kari, why don't you come help me?" I shrug and stand up, asking everyone how they take their coffee.

"It all happened so quickly," Sora tells me when we get inside. "I had only heard that T.K. had a girlfriend about six months ago, and then the next thing I know, I'm getting a wedding invitation in the mail!" Why is she telling me this? Why does she think I care? I don't care.

Of course I care, because if I didn't, I wouldn't be so uncomfortable right now.

"It's okay. You don't need to explain anything to me," I say, hoping she will get the hint and drop the subject. She doesn't.

"I didn't know he hadn't invited you until a month or so before the wedding, when they came down here to plan it," she continues. "You should have seen the look on his face when I starting talking about you in front of that … _tart_, Chantelle." I shut my eyes tight, and try to pretend that I'm anywhere but in my sister-in-law's kitchen having this discussion. At least Sora dislikes Chantelle. That's a plus. "The tart asked him why he didn't invite you and he said he didn't even have a way to get in touch with you. I offered to give him your number, telling him that Tai and I talk to you on a weekly basis, but he declined. I told him to call you, but he said that it was too late, that it was really short notice for a wedding. I kept telling him that it didn't matter, that you'd still come, but he disagreed. No matter what I threw at him, he had an excuse all prepared."

"So? Why are you telling me this?"

"Isn't it obvious?" she asks. Apparently it's not, because I'm absolutely baffled. After seeing the look on my face, she sighs and starts to explain. "He didn't want you there because he still has feelings for you!"

Still?

"You're wrong," I insist. "You're wrong because he never felt anything for me in the first place, so there's no way he could _still _feel for me now. He probably just didn't think I would show up. Maybe he thought that I'd become standoffish and wouldn't take time off to come celebrate my oldest friend's wedding." Wow. I sound really bitter.

"That's not it and you know it."

"Okay, well, what do you want me to say? It was a small wedding, just close friends and family, right?" She nods her head slowly, trying to figure out what I'm getting at. "I haven't talked to him, with the exception of this week, in almost three years. We weren't close friends, so there's no reason for him to invite me," I insist.

"He invited Joe," she answers in a sing-song voice. Okay, maybe that isn't the reason then. "Joe couldn't make it, but he was invited, nonetheless."

"Maybe he still talks to Joe. I have no idea."

Sora sighs and shakes her head. "Hikari," she says sternly, "you're a bright girl but when it comes to love, you're an absolute moron. You don't really believe that, do you? I see the way he looks at you. He may be married, but it isn't over for him."

"And why is that _my_ problem? If that's true – which I'm not saying it is – it isn't any of my concern," I persist. "Why does everyone assume I want to talk and gossip about T.K. like we're still in high school? We're adults, for Christ's sake!"

Her eyes go wide and she slams the cup she was filling with coffee down on the counter. Off-brown liquid spills out the sides and drips down the cup, making a ring on the counter. "Oh my _God_!"

"What?" What just happened here?

"Oh my God," she repeats. "You still … you still aren't over him, either! You love T.K.!" I spring forward and plant my hand overtop of her mouth.

"Would you keep it down? I don't want the whole world to know," I squeal. Shit. I just admitted to it, didn't I?

"I knew it! Kari, you've got to do something about this," she advises in a whispered tone when I pull away my hand. Great advice, Sora, I hadn't thought of that one. There's just one, teeny tiny problem: there's nothing I can do, because he has a fucking wife!

"Like what?" She shrugs, as if to say 'I was hoping you'd know'. "It's not like he's just dating her, or they're engaged. He's _married_. He has a wife. I can't hop in my time machine, go back to the past and change that." Her face falls.

"I guess you're right," Sora concedes. The extremity of the situation, not to mention the intense pain and heartache I'm feeling, must hit her full-force because she wraps her arms around me in a tight hug. "I'm so sorry for you."

You know something?

I'm sorry for me, too.

……………………………………………………………

T.K. and I arrive back at the hotel pretty late, around ten o'clock. I say 'pretty late' because we have to get up at five tomorrow to catch our plane.

We scurry around the room, checking and double-checking that we have all of our belongings. While T.K.'s mind might be trying to figure out where his favourite shirt is, mine is trying to solve a different mystery entirely.

Why wasn't I at his wedding?

Is Sora right, and he has feelings for me? Or is she just delusional, a hopeless romantic who has been rooting for T.K. and me since we were eight? Maybe she's both. I hope so.

"Found it," T.K. announces happily, holding his shirt up like a trophy. "It was under the couch … I wonder how it got there." He looks at me with an amused expression on his face, but it quickly fades when he sees my somber one. He opens his mouth, ready to speak, but I beat him to it.

"Why didn't you invite me?" There. I said it. No matter what the answer is, at least I can take comfort in the fact that I finally got this question off my chest and out in the open. He gives me a confused look. "Your wedding," I say slowly, "Why wasn't I there?"

"Didn't you say you understood?" He looks nervous – panicked, even. Good. Let him worry, let him sweat it out. I'm not letting him get out of this one.

"Well, yeah, but that was a load of shit. I don't understand. I can't figure out why you wouldn't invite me. I was your best friend for _years_, and you didn't even call me up to tell me you were getting married!" He looks rather taken aback by my sudden outburst of emotion. I don't care. Maybe now, he can feel uncomfortable around me like I do around him. The charade ends here, buddy.

"Kar, don't make me do this," he begs. He locks his gorgeous blue eyes on my chocolate brown ones, and I almost give in. I almost nod; almost tell him that he doesn't need to explain. But he does. And he will. Let's see how he's going to dig himself out of this hole, shall we?

"No, I'm going to. Come on, T.K., out with it. Why wasn't I there? Why wouldn't you invite me?"

"Because."

"That isn't an answer!" I yell, stomping my foot.

"I – what do you want me to tell you?"

"I want you to tell me the_ truth_! Why didn't I get invited? Why in the world would you think to –?"

"_Because_," he repeats.

"Because _what_?" I demand. "Because I'm not as important as everyone else?" I smack him with a pillow. "Because I don't mean as much to you?" I smack him again. "Because you were one person over the limit, so you pulled my name out of a hat and threw out my invitation?" I hit him once more, feeling all the anger that has welled up inside of me being drained out, and the feeling is so addictive that I keep hitting him.

"Because I still loved you!" he yells, dodging the pillow. "Okay?"

What? Still loved me?

Okay? No, it's not okay!

Is he telling the truth? My God, he's telling the truth! That means that Sora was right. And that means that …

Oh, God.

T.K. loves me.

I have to be dreaming.

I inconspicuously pinch my left arm and, much to my mix pleasure and dismay, it hurts. Shit. Shit. Shit.

I've waited for this day for so long, the day that T.K. would tell me he loves me. Standing in the middle of a honeymoon suite, having him profess his feelings for me, was a pretty good fantasy growing up. Standing in the middle of a honeymoon suite when he's married to someone else and I'm alone is, as you can probably imagine, not as appealing.

Do I love him, too? Of course I do. But do I tell him that? No, I can't. That would open up a whole can of worms and neither of us is ready for the repercussions.

Words can't express the feelings and emotions that are flowing through me right now. I'm so utterly happy – wouldn't be, after the guy you love tells you he feels the same way? I'm angry – why does he have to be married? Does God really hate me _that _much? I'm remorseful – what could have been, if we had only realized each other's feelings sooner? I'm regretful – why didn't I just tell him ages ago, when we were in high school?

"What?" I whisper.

"Nothing," he says immediately, turning his back to me. "Shit. I wasn't supposed to say that. Forget that I said anything."

I don't want to forget it!

"T.K. …" I say. "You … you can't just …"

"I have to," he says. "I'm married."

"I know," I say, tentatively putting a hand on his shoulder. "But you … God … T.K., talk to me. Please."

Maybe he hears something in my voice, because he turns around and shrugs. "I love you. I always have," he confesses. "Not as a best friend or as a sister, either. I _love _you. I thought that the feelings would go away when we went off to different colleges and started different lives, but they didn't."

No way. Tell me this isn't happening.

"All this time? You've felt this way all this time?"

"Pretty much," he shrugs. "That's why I was with Chantelle in the first place. I figured that you would never return my feelings. Hell, I hadn't even talked to you a few years. I thought that you had moved on, and that I should, too." Where is all this coming from? Why now? I want to tell him to stop, but I need to hear this. "After a while, I started to love her. Not the way I loved you, but I knew that it probably wasn't possible for me to have that same connection with a person other than you, anyway. My love for her was good enough, right? I really did love her, and she loved me, and I figured it was enough, so we got engaged." He looks down at his feet and then back up at me. "Say something," he begs.

"What do you want me to say? This is a lot to process," I tell him.

"I know, and I'm sorry. But that's why I couldn't invite you. I couldn't stand there and proclaim my undying love for someone while the only person I've ever _truly_ felt that extreme sense of love for was sitting down, watching me. I know I sound like a horrible person, but I couldn't have gone through with it if you were there," he explains. "And I couldn't do that to her, after I promised that we would get married. She didn't deserve that. She doesn't deserve any of this."

This is really happening. He's really saying all these things.

The worst part is that no matter how many times he says that he loves me, it won't change anything. He's still married to Chantelle.

"Wow," I whisper, unable to articulate my feelings. What's the point, anyway? It will only hurt him more. It's best that he never knows. It's best if he thinks I see him as just a friend, and never knows that, all this time, I could have been his.

"I love my wife, I really do. Honest. But it doesn't really compare to how I feel for you," he acknowledges. Okay, now he's just rubbing it in. I want to tell him to stop, but I can't. I can't really say anything right now. I just sit here and let him continue. "And I thought that maybe I was just remembering the way I felt for you in high school, and that I didn't _really _love you anymore, but I was wrong. I do. When I saw you that day on the street, it was like my heart stopped and I couldn't believe that you were really there."

He walks closer to me and runs his hand along my cheek. I feel a single tear slip from my eye and slide down that very same cheek, and I hate it because he wipes it away with his thumb and looks up at me, and I can tell that he knows my deepest, darkest secret.

"Do you … ?"

He doesn't finish his sentence, but I know what he wants to ask me.

Do I love him?

I do.

I nod and look away, unable to verbalize it. Maybe if I don't say the words, I will never have to admit to it. Maybe, in the dim lighting of our hotel room, my nod will go unnoticed, and he'll drop the subject altogether.

That doesn't happen.

The next thing I know, I'm being pressed against the wall, T.K.'s lips over mine, my legs wrapped tightly around his waist.

……………………………………………………………


	4. Too Late?

**Disclaimer: I don't own digimon **

**Chapter Four: Too Late?  
**……………………………………………………………

**"We'll keep working on the problem we know we'll never solve." – Bright Eyes  
**……………………………………………………………

"You okay, Kari?"

"Huh?" I look up to find Sora staring at me, looking concerned. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You looked pretty spaced just now … What were you thinking about?"

I was thinking about my ex-best friend. My very attractive ex-best friend. My very attractive, very _married _ex-best friend. Last night, with my very attractive, very married ex-best friend.

"Nothing," I smile, trying to hide my blush. She cocks her head to the side and studies me, the way she would with one of her children. What can I say, she's a true mother.

"Did you get enough sleep last night?"

No, but I can sleep on the plane.

"Yeah, I got plenty." I look around at the others, who are all engrossed in their own conversations and not paying attention to us. Quick, Kari, think of a way out before she starts asking questions you can't answer.

"Mommy, I need to go to the bathroom." Sora and I look down simultaneously and find her daughter, Teira, pulling on the bottom of her Capri pants.

Thank you so much, sweetie. You and your full bladder just saved Auntie Kari's life.

"Okay, we'll be back," Sora announces. Sora and Teira leave, attempting to locate the bathrooms in Odaiba airport.

Close to an hour later, after long goodbyes and promises to visit more often, T.K. and I board the plane back to New York. We still haven't spoken since last night. I don't think we'll speak at all during this flight and frankly, I don't really care. Every time I look at him, I get flashbacks of last night.

Last night, when he was biting my neck and running his hands under my shirt. When I was grinding myself into him and pulling his t-shirt off, kissing his chest; when he threw me down on the bed with every intention of screwing me right there in the middle of the honeymoon suite.

But I pulled away and for the millionth time this week, reminded myself that he was a married man.

He slept on the couch.

I might want T.K., but that doesn't mean I'm going to get him. He might be offering, but that doesn't mean I'm going to take.

Oh _God_, how I wish I could take.

But unfortunately, this little thing called my conscience keeps getting in the way. Damn. If it would only buzz off, I could have had a much more satisfying night.

We sit down in our seats (he takes the window seat, mumbling something about how he remembers that I hate heights and how flying makes me nauseous), and we still don't look at each other.

I am now sitting in the middle seat, praying to God that nobody sits in the aisle seat to my left so I can move over and put some much needed distance between us. Not only does a large man sit down beside me, but he quickly manages to fall asleep, successfully blocking me from getting into the aisle. If I want to go to the bathroom (a.k.a. get away from T.K. and take a breather) I'll have to wake him, and I'm pretty sure that he's the grumpy type.

Okay, it looks like I'm stuck here.

It's going to be a long flight.

……………………………………………………………

Once we touch down on good old American soil and retrieve our luggage, we mutter goodbyes and go our separate ways.

Overall, it was a good trip.

In specific, some areas could have been better. But hey, what can you do?

It's not like I'm going to sleep with T.K., though I think he thought I would. That kind of upsets me. Does he think I'm a tramp, someone who goes around and has steamy affairs with married men?

_Oh, how steamy it would be ... _

No, I don't believe he thinks that about me. I think that he was just wrapped up in the moment, and his feelings for me – feelings that are completely, totally, one hundred per cent reciprocated.

I'm pretty sure that the reason we haven't spoken since our make out session is because of embarrassment. I know T.K. (or at least I used to) and he isn't the type of guy who cheats on his wife. Not under normal circumstances. But then again, these aren't normal circumstances.

But no, no matter what, I will _not _have an affair with him. I will not be the reason a marriage breaks up.

Okay, so maybe I could live with being the cause of a failed marriage. But mark my words: I will _never _sleep with T.K. while he is still married to Chantelle, or anyone else, for that matter.

And if I do –

No. I won't.

I'll stick to my morals and I'll make it through this.

I hope.

……………………………………………………………

I did it. I broke down and slept with T.K. yesterday.

Kidding!

Actually, I haven't talked to him since we got home.

Today, Friday, is day five of my new plan. Oh, by the way, my new plan is called the 'Operation: Avoid T.K. Until He Stops Avoiding Me, First' plan.

I think it's going pretty great.

I've tried to keep myself busy. I've worked three days this week and I've gone for coffee with Chris twice. His schedule is crazy, and both times we've gone out, he's been called away to the hospital. I went to dinner with Paige and Daniel (feeling like a third-wheel, but it beat staying home) and treated myself to quite the shopping spree. See? I'm fine.

Okay, honestly, I'm not doing so well. We had this amazing discussion about our feelings back in Japan, and then we left this question wide open about what – if anything – we're going to do about our situation. He hasn't even tried to get in touch with me. If anyone should be calling anyone to explain (or perhaps even apologize) it should be him calling me!

Is it possible that he checked his feelings for me at airport security, and I'm the only one who brought my emotional baggage back to New York? Am I the only one who still cares? Am I kind of like that sad little puppy that follows you home from school one day? Did I follow T.K. home, or did he call my name and give me treats so I followed him, until we wound up on his doorstep? Was this on my own free will, or did he stick a leash on me and drag me home with him?

Since he doesn't call to confirm or deny any of my puppy theories, I decide that I will call him. It's the only option … Right?

"Hello?" he says when he answers the phone.

"What's going on here?" So much for pleasantries, huh? My mother always said I had terrible phone manners, but this is ridiculous. Whatever … Perhaps blunt and straight to the point is the way to go with T.K.?

"What? What are you –?"

"You _know _what I mean," I insist. He sighs.

"Can we not talk about this now?" No, we can't 'not talk about this now.' We haven't been talking about it for five days. I'm tired of not talking about it. I'm going to get to the bottom of this if it kills me.

"Nope, we can either do this over the phone, or we can do it in person." He remains silent, most likely dreading either one. T.K. has never liked confrontation, so this probably won't be a walk in the park for him. I give him a few more seconds, and when he still doesn't say anything, I decide that the ball is in my court. "Fine then, I'm coming over," I declare. Then I hang up.

A half hour later (if asked, I will claim the traffic outside is crazy, but really, I spent the majority of the time making myself look extra amazing for T.K.), I'm finally knocking on his door. When he answers, I'm less than impressed with his appearance. He is wearing pajama pants and no shirt, his hair is ruffled and he looks like he's just gotten out of bed. Maybe he has.

"For God's sake, it's almost one in the afternoon," I lecture.

"I was up late last night," he explains.

Why? Did Chantelle keep him up last night? Was he working off some of the sexual frustration that I caused?

The thought of T.K. and his wife together bothers me more than I am willing to admit. I know I shouldn't be so jealous, especially since they're married and _I'm_ the outsider, but I can't help it.

As if reading my mind, T.K. shakes his head. "Went out with a friend," he confirms.

Oh, good.

Not that I care, or anything.

He moves out of the way and I walk in, doing a quick scan of the area. He reminds me that Chantelle is at work. Sometimes, I forget that other people have real, less glamorous jobs, with Monday to Friday, 9-5 hours. Suckers.

Focus, Kari. You came here to talk about … whatever.

"You're avoiding me," I say. Gee, thanks, Captain Obvious, I'm sure he hadn't realized that one.

"Look, I'm sorry that I made you uncomfortable. I didn't mean to … you know," he apologizes. Please, don't say it was an accident. Don't apologize for kissing me, or for telling me how you feel. "I don't really know what to say … When I'm around you, I just can't control myself."

Likewise.

"I don't want to talk about what happened between us," I begin. "I want to talk about the things you said … Were they true?"

I hold my breath, my entire life depending on his answer. Okay, maybe not my _life_, but definitely my heart.

"Yeah. I can't sit here and deny my feelings. But … I'm married."

Well, duh. That's why we're in this predicament in the first place.

"You said that, uh, you kind of felt the same way," he says. "Was that true?" I nod, looking down at my feet. "How long?"

"Probably about the same as you," I admit, looking back up at him. He nods and walks over to his couch.

"I think I better sit down if we're going to get into this," he says. He gestures to the seat beside him, but I shake my head. I need to stand. I need to feel in control. I can't sink into the couch and get comfortable, maybe even let my guard down. "I almost told you once," he whispers. "We were at prom. I figured that we were gonna go our separate ways, so I might as well have gotten it all out in the open. I walked up to you and I had a whole speech in mind but, at the last second, I chickened out."

Why? Why would he chicken out? More importantly, how did he never notice I was in love with him?

"It would have been worth the risk," I murmur, fighting back tears. "Wouldn't you say?"

"Yeah," he nods. "I might have told you sooner than prom, or at least tried to, but we were always with different people, things were never right. I assumed we just weren't meant to be." He lets out a sad little laugh.

"Do you still think that?" I ask. I realize as the words leave my mouth that I'm asking a lot more than the question lets on. I'm asking him not about the past, but about the future. He looks up at me, his eyes locking with mine, and he slowly shakes his head.

"I did back then, though. That's what matters."

It matters if you feel that way now, too! Maybe we can still make it work … Somehow?

"You didn't say anything either, so I can't totally be blamed for this," he suggests. I lower my head and nod, agreeing completely.

"I would have told you senior year, but by then, you were sleeping with that slut Kara," I exclaim bitterly. It's not like I wasn't sexually active in high school, but I wasn't with the biggest whore (or man-whore) in Odaiba history.

"Hey, she wasn't a slut! Besides, I only slept with her because I heard that you were sleeping with Juan Pablo," he counters.

Oh, I remember Juan Pablo. He was an exchange student from Spain. He had a nice accent and the way he said my name would send shivers down my spine. He had a great body, too. Damn, he was hot. I wonder if I still have his number …

"I never slept with him!" He gives me a dubious look and raises an eyebrow. "Okay, once. But it totally didn't count," I say. "The only reason I even went out with him was because Yolei told me that she saw you and Jena making out behind the school"

I'd like to clear the record about myself right now: I'm not a whore, and I wasn't in high school, either. I slept with the exchange student guy, who cares? He was really charming. And did I mention that he was gorgeous? We went on a few dates, too. Seven, if I remember correctly. He was going back to Spain in a week, and I had to say goodbye. We really cared for each other. It's not like I just jumped him in the middle of math class one day.

There was one other guy, too. His name was Nikku, a traditional Japanese boy who, not surprisingly, wasn't as traditional when it came to pre-marital sex. He asked me out near the middle of twelfth grade and I went to prom with him. When you go to a prom with your 'boyfriend', it's a done deal as to what happens at the after-party.

That pretty much concludes my high school adventures. Very few names (four, specifically) have been added to the list after that.

"I only made out with her because I found out you liked Aru." Our memories of things that happened close to a decade ago are pretty extraordinary. I don't remember what my homeroom teacher's name was in the eleventh grade, but I remember the green shirt T.K. occasionally wore that same year … it was my favourite, but it rarely made an appearance. Now that I think about it, I can recall that, after telling him that I liked it, he wore it much more frequently.

"I only pretended to like him because I saw you flirting with Kei," I clarify. I remember Kei. She was tall, thin, brunette, gorgeous, popular and sickeningly nice. All the guys liked her, all the girlsliked her. I had no problem with her at all, we were actually friends, but that was before she set her sights on T.K. After that, I hated Kei.

I've noticed a pattern with all the girls T.K. has ever married, dated, fooled around with, or paid the least bit of attention to. I hate them all. It must be a territorial thing, and rightfully so. In my mind, he will always have been mine, first.

"Yeah, only because you were flirting with Sesu," he reasons. We could go on all day, pointing the finger back and forth. It won't do any good; it won't change the past, so why are we even bothering?

"I only flirted with him because I wanted to make you jealous!" I justify. "You had all these gorgeous girls all over you and I thought I was just more like a sister to you. I thought you saw me as plain and ugly and undesirable."

"Undesirable?" He stands up and takes a step toward me. "I've been in love with you since the tenth grade, but you never noticed." Yeah, because I didn't think it was possible for you to feel that way about me. "You only saw me as your best friend, and never as a boyfriend."

_You _only saw _me _as a best friend, as well.

At least, that's what we both thought.

"I would have given my right arm for you to ask me out in high school," I say, glaring at him. I don't really know why, but I'm getting really mad. Judging by the look on his face, he is, too.

"Same," he shrugs.

"So all of this, everything, was just a waste? This entire time, you wanted me and I wanted you?" I'm a little surprised that I've actually come right out and put it all on the line. Even though I know what the answer is, I start to get nervous as I wait for his reply.

"I guess so." I've turned this idea over in my mind a million times, and every time, it gets harder to deal with.

"Well this is just _wonderful_, T.K.!" I say sarcastically. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? Why didn't you tell me in high school, or when you weren't married and we could have done something about it?"

"I was scared that you wouldn't feel the same way and I'd lose you as a friend."

Wouldn't it be worth it? What did it matter if he told me and I didn't return his feelings? We have barely talked at all since high school ended, forgetting these last two weeks.

"Well, congratulations. Not only have you lost me as your possible girlfriend, but you've lost me in every aspect of your life." I spin around on my heel and walk to the door. He grabs my arm and I turn back around to face him.

"What does that mean?" he asks. What does he think it means?

"It means that I'm leaving now. Goodbye," I say, pulling my arm out of his grip.

"Don't go," he pleads. You have no idea how badly I want to stay. But I can't. I can't stay because I know what will happen if I do.

"I have to," I whisper, still not turning around.

"No, you don't," he protests. There's hope in his voice, and I'm so tempted to say that he's right, and that I'll stay. To hell with responsibilities, to hell with morals, to hell with Chantelle. Maybe I _should_ stay. "We can still be friends, Kar."

Okay, now I really need to go.

"No, we can't," I insist. "I can't be your friend. Not now. Not when every time I look at you, I'll be thinking of what could have happened with us." He doesn't even protest when I walk right through the door and successfully resist the urge to glance over my shoulder at him, one last time.

Why was I so stupid?

Why was he?

……………………………………………………………

Bright and early Monday morning, I'm up and out of the house. I spend most of the day on set for a photo shoot.

Most days, I enjoy my job. Well, that's a stretch. It's not terrific, but it's certainly not _horrible_. Nonetheless, I've never wanted to call in sick more than I did this morning.

Taking pictures of pretty people is, somehow, less appealing than sitting at home by the phone waiting for T.K. to call. Even though I know he won't.

After the shoot is over (it is now dinnertime, and I'm famished. Lucky me didn't get to eat lunch today) I check the messages on my cell phone. I'm excited to see that I have one voicemail message, but it turns out that it's only Chris who called.

In his message, after mentioning that it's about five o'clock and correctly assuming that I'm working, he asks me to coffee when I get home. I call him back as I scan the area for a cab and tell him that I would appreciate it if we could move our coffee date to tomorrow, because right now, I really need to eat dinner. He says that he hasn't gotten around to eating yet either, and suggests that we meet somewhere to grab a bite. We've never done the dinner thing before, just friendly coffees. I smirk to myself and coyly ask him if he's asking me on a date. I expect him to deny it but instead, he says yes, and asks me what type food I feel like.

We meet at a restaurant I've never been to before – Italian, I think. Much to my surprise, conversation is not hard to come by. I tell him stories about how I got into photography and he tells me about becoming a doctor. Standard first date conversation. Although we've covered some of the topics already, we do not hesitate to go over them again. We branch out a bit, but stay mostly on course. I regale him with tales of bitchy celebrities and diva-like commands. I tell him which celebs are gay, which are straight, and which are too ugly without makeup that it doesn't really matter what their orientation is. He shares stories of his own personal adventures, from saving lives for a living to what he does to wind down on his spare time (skydiving and bungee-jumping … wind down, my ass).

At the end of the night, it's warm and not too dark. Chris offers to walk me home, and I accept. We walk the six blocks to my apartment, laughing and talking; giving off the 'first date vibe' to the people we pass on our way.

He kisses me goodnight and, for some reason, I feel guilty. But then, I think about T.K. and Chantelle. How many times have they kissed since _our_ kiss? Fine. He's forgotten about me, so I might as well forget about him. I decide that it's time to move on. I refuse to wait around forever, especially for a guy who is not going to show up.

"Do you want to come in?" I ask him.

He gives me a sideways look, and I'm positive he now thinks I'm a slut. This is our first date. While we've technically gone out three times before, they didn't count as dates. Did they? I'm going to pretend they did.

So this is date number four. Four dates is a perfectly respectable amount of time to give a relationship before a sleepover.

Besides, I like Chris. He's cute and smart and really funny. It's hard for me to date because, for some reason, guys seem to know who I am. I think it's weird … It's not like I'm a celebrity or anything, not really. I'm just a lousy photographer but, to them, I must be good enough. Most of the time, they're too 'star struck' to even have an intelligent conversation with me, or they never shut up while asking all kinds of questions about the sexy celebrities I've met. Chris is different. He's like the American version of T.K., I suppose.

He nods his head, and follows me inside.

……………………………………………………………

The phone is ringing.

I open my eyes and sit up, glancing at the alarm clock. Half past three in the morning. I told Tai about the time difference ages ago, so who could be calling?

I fumble for the cordless phone on my nightstand and put it to my ear. "Hello?" I say quietly in my raspy morning voice.

"Kar." I know that voice.

"T.K.? Why the hell are you calling me at almost four in the morning?" I demand.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers.

"For what?" I ask before thinking. Shit. Why do I do that?

"For not telling you how I felt sooner … For marrying her. I'm sorry I didn't invite you to the wedding. I'm sorry I kissed you, and even sorrier that I let you walk out of my apartment the other day," he quietly lists.

"It's a little late now, don't you think?" He sighs and says nothing, as if he's in deep thought about something. A few minutes later, he still hasn't said anything. I'm about to ask him if he's still there when he speaks. It's so quiet that I almost have to ask him to repeat it, but I manage to catch it.

"It's never too late."

I sit in silence for what feels like forever before the dial tone cuts through. T.K. hung up. Sighing, I hang up on my end and look to my left. I see Chris, fast asleep.

Despite what T.K. says, it is too late.

……………………………………………………………


	5. The Right Thing

**Disclaimer: I don't own digimon. **

**Chapter Five: The Right Thing  
**……………………………………………………………

**"****Sometimes I wish I had never met you, because then, I could go to sleep at night not knowing there was someone like you out there." – Good Will Hunting  
**……………………………………………………………

I wake up early the next morning, though I don't have anywhere to be. Chris kisses me, mumbles 'goodbye, Kar,' and rushes off to the hospital.

He called me Kar. It feels wrong, dirty. Only T.K. calls me Kar, and I don't want it any other way. Even if T.K. and I aren't going to happen, it still doesn't feel right. I think about telling him not to call me that, but he's already gone. Why do I care so much, anyway?

Because he's not T.K., that's why.

After mentally tricking myself to believe that the blonde guy leaving my apartment the morning after _is_ T.K., I realize something very important: Chris and I aren't going to work out.

I get in the shower, briefly wonder if it's possible to drown yourself in one, and get out. I go back into the living room and see that my answering machine is blinking. I have one new message. I press play and am not surprised to hear T.K.'s voice fill my living room.

"You're avoiding me," he states, mimicking my words from a few days earlier. It impresses me to find that I've suddenly gained the upper hand. I'm no longer the one calling him. I'm not the one losing sleep over our situation. I slept well last night. _Chris and I _slept well last night.

I hear a click and a mechanical voice tells me it's the end of the message, and then continues to ramble on about call information. Smirking, I decide that I will not call him back. If he wants to call and talk to me so badly, he will try again. Knowing T.K., he'll try again and again and again and again.

I throw on some clothes and do my hair and makeup. When I look in the mirror and deem myself ready to enter the crazy world of New York, I leave the safety zone otherwise known as my home and venture to Madison Ave.

Once there, I buy more shoes than I will possibly ever have the opportunity to wear. I grab a quick lunch – solo, something I like to do every once in a while – and head back to my apartment to unburden myself of my shopping bags.

The first thing I notice upon entering my apartment is a flashing red light on my answering machine. I press play and walk into my bedroom to set down my things.

"You're there, I know you are. I'm coming over."

What?

I run back into the living room – almost breaking my neck on a poorly placed plant (when did that get there? I don't remember ever buying it). The mechanical woman on my machine tells me the call time. I check my clock and, much to my dismay, see that the message was recorded four minutes ago.

Just wonderful.

He'll be coming by, and I'll be here. There could be worse situations, I suppose. After all, I could have just woken up and not had the chance to shower. At least right now, I look fabulous.

I go to the kitchen and get an apple. I turn on the TV, relax on my couch, and wait. I wait for T.K. to come over and say whatever he thinks he has to say before realizing what I've already realized: it's useless, it's pointless. We're over.

Hell, we never even began.

I hear a knock on the door. "It's open!" I yell, not getting up from the couch. It's a bad habit I've fallen into where I don't lock the door when I'm home. I just don't see it as a risk, if I'm sitting there in the living room. Paige always lectures me for it, saying one day I'm going to get in the shower and forget my door is wide open. When I get out, she says, everything will be gone.

He walks in and I still don't move. I sit there, watching my soap opera, munching on my apple. He clears his throat to get my attention. I glance up at him, smile, and look back at my television. I'm trying to look as emotionally removed as I possibly can. It's working.

"Uh, _hello_?" he says. I sigh and turn back to him.

"Hi." I shift again and face my show. When I see that it's a commercial, I grab the remote and change the channel.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" he demands. Okay, enough is enough. I turn off the TV and stare at him.

"I came home to hear you on my answering machine, telling me you were coming over. I don't want you here, but you're here, nonetheless," I sigh. Standing up, I walk into kitchen and throw the apple core into the garbage. I reach into the fridge and grab a bottle of water. "So how about you talk, since you needed to be here _so _badly, and I'll just go on about my day?" He looks at me for a second before his blank expression turns into amusement.

"You did not go out, you liar," he teases. I put the water bottle on the counter, cross my living room and go into my bedroom. I grab some of my bags of shoes, hoist them off the ground and bring them into the living room.

"I went out."

"Okay, so you went out," he agrees. I put the bags down and walk back to the kitchen. I open the water bottle and take a long drink. "But you're lying about the other part. You know you're glad that I'm here."

Am I? I don't even know anymore.

"Au contraire, mon ami," I say in French. He raises an eyebrow, clearly having no clue what I just said. Back in Odaiba, they taught us English as a second language. The only reason I know any French was because of my stint in Paris. Clearly, T.K. did not have the same opportunities as me. "It's … French. Never mind," I mutter. "But no, I don't want you here. So just say what you have to say, and leave."

He looks hurt, and I feel guilty. No matter what has happened between us these past weeks, T.K. is still my oldest friend. He's still a large part of my life, and I still care about him. I don't want him to feel bad. But then again, I don't want myself to feel bad, either. And since he's the one making me feel bad, he's the one who will pay.

"I meant what I said last night." _That_, I wasn't expecting. "I … I love her but it's not the same thing, you know?" Yeah, I know. But that doesn't change anything. It only hurts me even more. "I want to be with you, Kar."

"You're married. You can't be with me. I won't be the other woman," I tell him. He shakes his head.

"I couldn't ask you to do that. But I think I figured out a way," he informs me, his eyes sparkling. Damn him. He's going to get my hopes up again, isn't he?

"How?"

"We've only been married three and a half months. We could get an annulment," he suggests.

Oh God, he's serious about this. He's _really _serious about this.

What if he goes through with this?

I'll be the reason his marriage breaks up!

"You can't do that," I whisper. "Not because of me." He shakes his head.

"It isn't just because of you. We aren't really that happy," he says. Well, you were happy enough to marry her, T.K. "I mean, yeah, we were, but not really anymore. Not since we ran into each other that day on the street."

"See? It _is _because of me," I insist.

"Okay, so maybe it is. But it's about me, too. I was happy with her before I remembered what it was like to be with you. Now, when I'm with her, you're on my mind," he admits. "It isn't fair to you or me, or even Chantelle, for that matter. She's a good person; she doesn't deserve a husband who doesn't really want her."

He's right, isn't he?

Maybe if I just believe what he says, I can feel like this isn't totally my fault. I can feel like we're doing the right thing, for everyone.

You know what? We are.

I deserve to be with T.K. He was mine before he was ever Chantelle's. I'm just taking back what's rightfully mine.

"Okay," I whisper. He looks pretty surprised.

"What? Really?"

"Yeah," I nod. "I'm not going to lie. I want you. So if this is how I get you, then I'm prepared to do it."

……………………………………………………………

After our conversation, T.K. goes back to his apartment to wait for Chantelle to get home from work.

I've never been so grateful for the fact that he works at home and I only work a couple times a week. We can get together during the day, when Chantelle is at work, and she is none the wiser. Maybe she won't even suspect that T.K. is leaving her for me.

Who am I kidding? Of course she's going to know.

The most surprising thing is that I don't even care. So what if she knows? I'll be with T.K., and that stupid tart will be out on her ass. All's well that ends well.

Now, I'm forced to pace around my apartment and wait for him to call with the good news. Hopefully, she'll take it well. In other words, she won't come over here with a gun, ready to do me in.

I didn't do anything wrong, did I? I can't be blamed for falling in love. Besides, I fell in love with him before either of us knew her. And it isn't my fault that he just happened to return my feelings.

I do feel bad for Chantelle, though. She's about to have her world ripped out from under her.

Okay, maybe I don't feel too bad. It's hard to, when I'm so ridiculously happy.

T.K. and I are going to be together.

I never thought it would happen, but it is.

I suppose I should call Chris, and let him down easy. I call his cell phone, since he's most likely at work. I get the voicemail, and I freeze up. Maybe I should do this in person? After all, phone breakups are so tacky and impersonal. We've been on four dates, one official. I slept with him last night. I think he deserves better than this.

"Hey, it's Kari," I begin. Shit. I have no clue what to say. Should I just end it now, and get it over with? There's no point dragging our relationship on any longer. "We need to talk, can you call me later? Great. Bye."

Okay. That's not inappropriate, right? I didn't _technically _break up with him over the phone. I just … foreshadowed was will happen when he does get around to calling me back. That's perfectly acceptable. At least now, he'll be prepared. Maybe I'll even let him talk first, so he can save his pride and dump _me_. Normally, I would hate letting the guy act all tough when I'm the one ending things. But that was before, and that was when I didn't have anyone waiting for me. Now, I have T.K. He's waiting for me, and I don't need to care what Chris, or any other man, thinks.

……………………………………………………………

I fell asleep. I don't know _how_, because I was going out of my mind with anticipation, but I did. Sometime after leaving Chris that message, I collapsed onto my couch and drifted off.

I wake up to find T.K. shaking me. Okay, I guess Paige is right: Leaving my door unlocked _is _dangerous. Next time, it might not be T.K. waking me up.

"Hey," I say. My voice is hoarse and raspy. I look outside and see that it's dark. How long have I been asleep? It's probably been a few hours, at least. Did it take that long for T.K. to break things off? Did she put up a fight?

"Hi." Why does he sound so cold? I sit up and look at him. His hair is a mess and he looks really worn out. Yeah, she must have given him a hard time. I would, too, I guess … especially if my husband tried to annul our marriage. I wouldn't like that too much. Having the man I love ask me to sign annulment papers, so it would be like we never even got married in the first place, would really hurt.

His eyes are red and puffy. Was he crying?

"Did you do it?" He shakes his head. I get on my feet almost instantly. "Why not?" He looks uneasy. "What's wrong?" He takes a deep breath and chews his lip. This isn't a good sign.

"I think we need to talk." Shit. This really isn't good. Has he gone back to her? Please, anything but that.

"What is it?" I try to catch his eyes but he's looking everywhere but my direction.

"I don't really know how to say this," he whispers.

"Just say it," I demand. I don't like him keeping me in suspense the way he his.

"Fine." He looks up and stares into my eyes. I know for sure that he's been crying. My stomach turns, and I know for sure that this is not going to be good. "She's pregnant. Two and a half months. She found out this morning."

This isn't happening. I'm still asleep, and this is just a bad dream. It's a nightmare. I reach out and pinch my arm, like I did back in Japan. And, like it did in Japan, it hurts. Oh God. Oh, no.

"Oh," I say dumbly. What else can I say? "That's … great?" Is it? I don't even know. I'm in a daze.

"Yeah, it is. I mean, I always wanted a kid," he smiles. But is it Chantelle's kid that you've always wanted? Or is it mine? "But this doesn't change anything; I want you to know that. It doesn't change a damn thing."

He still wants to be with me. Is he serious? His wife is almost three months pregnant and he wants to leave her for me. If I didn't know him so well, I would think he is the most insensitive asshole to ever live.

I hate it, but I know what I have to do.

"Yeah, except … it totally does," I whisper. "T.K., it isn't just your life anymore. You're going to have a _baby_." I don't think it's fully hit him yet. I don't think he realizes just how huge this is. Unfortunately, it's hit me. I understand how important, how life-changing this is. "That baby will need you to be there for it and to love it and it's going to need a family." He looks at me, confused, wondering what I could be saying. Okay, I'll come right out and say it. "I can't be the reason it won't have all those things."

"Kar, just stop," he begs. "You're trying to do the right thing, but you don't need to. I don't want you to."

"I'm sorry." You don't know _how _sorry. "Maybe you can do this, but I can't. I love you, but …" I trail off. A tear slides down my cheek, and I realize that I'm crying. Why does life have to suck so much?

"But what?" Here we go …

"But it's just not going to work out for us."

If it was just Chantelle who was standing in line to be hurt, I'd be all for it. But there's an innocent little baby involved now, a baby who hasn't done anything wrong and shouldn't be born into a broken family. That baby shouldn't grow up without a _real _set of parents, just because some almost-thirty loser thinks she deserves a second chance at love.

"Kar, I don't love her," he insists. He's crying, too. This is the first time I've ever seen T.K. reduced to tears. It's horrible, but it can't possibly compare to how horrible this whole situation is. It can't compare to how horrible _I _feel. "I love you. I want to be with you. Please, don't do this. Please."

"I have to," I sob. "We missed our chance." He shakes his head, not accepting my words. I push him to the door. He doesn't even try to resist, and it breaks my heart. No, my heart has been broken a million times before. This time, it feels like he's taking all the little pieces and grinding them up into dust. And now, he's sweeping the pieces up and throwing them away. Because that's what I am to him, I suppose. A disposable heart. He only wants me when he can't have me. I know that now, even if he doesn't admit it. He had me in high school, but he never did anything. And now, when it isn't possible for me to be with him, he suddenly _needs_ me. "Goodbye, T.K."

We stare at each other for a few silent minutes before he looks down and turns around. He slowly walks away, throwing the occasional glance over his shoulder. He's waiting for me to call out to him, to tell him that I don't want him to go and that we'll find a way to make this work. I want to do that more than anything, but I can't. I should have done it years ago. Now, it's too late.

T.K. is right. I'm trying to do the right thing. I always do. Sometimes, like now, I really hate that about myself.

There will always be the one who got away. There will be the one who you want more than anyone else; the only one who can make you stop what you're doing and get lost deep in thought, wondering where they are and who they're with, wondering if they're happy or if they ever think about you.

But sometimes, somehow, they come back. And then, you have to make a choice. You can give in, be with them and have everything you've ever wanted, or you can accept that you've lost them and it isn't meant to be, and bow out. The question you have to ask yourself is 'what will I do?'

For me, Hikari Kamiya, 'Ms. Fashion Photographer Extraordinaire,' the answer is nothing.

I will do nothing, because the one that got away from me went somewhere. He was scooped up by someone else. And that 'someone else' is relying on me to back off, so she can have hope for a future with him, and their child.

I will do nothing.

He will get away.

Sometimes, first chances are all you will ever get.

……………………………………………………………


End file.
